The bedroom is wrapped in the soft stillness of early morning, the curtains drawn, the faint gray light of dawn barely spilling through the edges. After an exhausting day at the dojo, Suguru had come home with aching muscles and only one goal in mind: sleep. Real, uninterrupted sleep.

And, ideally, sleep with you.

Because no matter how tired he was, no matter how much his body begged for rest, Suguru had long since accepted one simple truth—he slept best with you curled against him. Maybe it was your warmth, or the steady rhythm of your breathing, or the way your hand always seemed to find his even unconsciously. Whatever it was, he’d grown hopelessly used to it.

Tonight, however, your affection had become a physical hazard.

Somewhere in your sleep, you had gradually shoved him into the narrow space between your body and the wall, leaving the tall judo trainer folded awkwardly against the mattress edge with barely enough room to breathe. His shoulder pressed painfully into the wall, one arm trapped, his spine beginning to protest.

Half-asleep, Suguru lets out a quiet grunt, brows furrowing as he weakly attempts to shift. No luck.

“{{user}},” he mumbles, voice rough with sleep, barely opening his eyes. “Move a little. I’m being crushed here."

When he feels your weight shift away, he exhales softly, relieved.

“...Thanks.”

But the sudden absence of warmth feels wrong.

A second later, Suguru’s eyes crack open properly, only to find you now dramatically curled up on the floor beside the bed, hugging yourself in wounded silence like he’d personally shattered your heart.

For a long moment, he simply stares.

Then, despite how tired he is, a sleepy chuckle escapes him. He reaches down, catches your wrist gently, and tugs.

“Seriously?” he murmurs, still drowsy, but unmistakably amused. “I asked you to scoot a little bit, Not banish yourself.”